


Day 6 - Jewelery / Date/Party

by GemmaRose



Series: MegaStar Week [6]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Courting Rituals, Dehumanization, Dystopia, Gift Giving, M/M, Multiple Selves, it doesn't happen to the pov character but it's still very much There, specifically starscreams, there's like ten of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Starscream has never once accepted a courting present left at his door, but this unmarked one... it intrigues him.
Relationships: Jetfire | Skyfire/Starscream (Transformers), Megatron/Starscream (Transformers)
Series: MegaStar Week [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126316
Kudos: 22





	Day 6 - Jewelery / Date/Party

Starscream was no stranger to flattery, or to unsolicited courting attempts. New Vos was big enough that even with at least half a dozen of him in various parts of the city he was a hot commodity. They all were, really, even the ugly one who looked like nothing so much as an oversized triangle of scrap metal. That Starscream was good with sparklings, and in a world like this that was one of the most attractive things in a partner, enough so that even his frankly hideous kibble didn’t make much dent in the offers sent his way. Unlike most of his namemates, however, he had never _accepted_ any of the courting offers which came his way. They were flattering, yes, but the mechs behind them never failed to come off as desperate, pathetic creatures.

Perhaps that was why, when an impeccably wrapped courting gift showed up on his balcony with no tag stating the name of the mech it was from, he brought it inside. The contents were nothing particularly extravagant, a bottle of highgrade with the price sticker clumsily half peeled off the bottom, but when he lifted the bottle out to check the numbers that remained his attention was quickly caught by a folded sheet of colourful foil which had been tucked underneath it. Setting the engex aside, he plucked the sheet out of the box and unfolded it, scanning the glyphs neatly hand-scribed onto it with what seemed to be thinned armour paint.

On this sunless planet, nothing yet has warmed me as a glimpse of your smile, an echo of your laughter. I hear this brand of engex comes close, though.

“Well, at least this one’s made an effort.” he folded the note back up and tossed it onto the table, picking the bottle of engex back up. Drinking it would be an implicit acceptance of the gift, permission for whoever had left it to continue attempting to court him until he rejected their advances. Well, at least this one knew how to get his attention. Time would tell if they could keep it.

\--- 

After he accepted the anonymous engex, more gifts appeared on his balcony, each containing a note. Some of the notes were simple declarations of affection, like the first had been, while others were poems or, in one memorable instance, a rambling near-essay in only barely legible glyphs which had probably been written while either overcharged or recharge-deprived. It was... charming. He had been charmed by this mystery mech, whose gifts were simple but thoughtful, irregularly delivered but always a delight to find in the morning. Unforunately, the anonymity of his suitor presented a bit of a conundrum. By Vosnian tradition, they were not to continue to the acts of intimacy and disclosure until he’d procured and delivered a reciprocal gift.

He already knew what he would buy, some proper light-ink and fancy stationary, but _delivering_ it was the challenge. He’d set up cameras, once the gifts started coming semi-regularly, but had yet to actually catch his suitor in the act of leaving them. He’d glimpsed courriers, a few times, but never the mech himself. Which meant he would have to wait up and catch the mech in the act. The gifts too often had fragile or carefully arranged contents to simply be dropped from out of frame, but that left the mech’s methods of delivery an utter mystery.

Of course, sometimes the only way to get things done was to do them yourself, and it was looking like this was one of those times. Which is how Starscream found himself sitting up in a darkened habsuite, a sheaf of stationary foils meticulously wrapped in his lap, for the third night in a row. Not that Night as a concept had terribly much meaning on a planet with no sun in a city with minimal vegetation, but it was when the streetlights dimmed and most businesses closed their doors so their proprietors could get some recharge. Or some fragging, as was often the case.

A shadow moved against the shadows, slipping _underneath_ his balcony, and Starscream was on his pedes before the present even popped up through the floor, his reciprocal gift stuffed in his subspace and thrusters priming as he threw open the door. Engines sparked under him, and he threw himself off his balcony, transforming to chase the smear of purple biolights which had shot out into the early morning traffic. Their profile was hard to keep an optic on, but he was Starscream, he wouldn’t be evaded by some no-name mech just because they had an odd frametype.

His suitor plunged into a sharp dive, and Starscream followed, his more aerodynamic frame helping close the distance between them. They leveled out shooting along the lowest traffic lane above ground level, the pillars of New Vos reaching high above them, monolithic shadows against an eternally blackened sky. Starscream pulsed extra power to his thrusters, and flipped back to root mode to grapple his mystery mech, the extra weight tipping them down towards the ground.

This close to it, there was no room to course correct, and Starscream let go only an instant before he would’ve been tumbled as well, swinging his legs forward to slow himself with a flare of his thrusters. His suitor tumbled an impressive distance, and he hovered over to them- him, according to data tags he could now make out- before lowering himself to the ground. “Such _dramatics_.” he chuckled, pulling his reciprocal gift form his subspace.

“Forgive me, the last time I interacted with one of your namemates, he tried to assassinate me.” a deep voice came from the gloom as his suitor stood up. And up. And _up_ slagging Pit this mech was from a world like the new Winglord’s, where his size wasn’t the low end of seeker standard but instead _minibot_ scale.

“Evidently you hadn’t been courting him.” Starscream huffed, optics tracing the glow of purple biolights on matte black paint. “But I suppose _he_ knew your name.”

The mech hesitated, then sighed. “I am Megatron.”

Hmm, the name was familiar, but distantly. Must’ve been someone he knew before he came to this world, perhaps a fellow officer? He had faint recollections of arguing with his trinemates over a mech who may have been of that designation, and he so rarely got on with his peers in positions of power. “Well, Megatron.” he held out the gift, switching to night vision to get a better measure of the mech. “I got this for you.”

Megatron, whose build seemed to be made f sleek lines and raw _power_ , looked delightfully flummoxed as he accepted the package. “Thank you?”

“The new Winglord is throwing a party, in a few nights.” he said after a moment. “He’s invited all his namemates, which is to say, I’ll be expected to show. Give me your comm code and I’ll forward the invitation to you.”

“For what purpose?” Megatron asked suspiciously. Starscream chortled.

“Why, I can’t be the only Starscream who shows up without a handsome mech on his wing.” he grinned, holding out his arm with a small number pad projected over it. Megatron’s claws brushed each button with utmost care, and it took Effort not to shudder at the thought of those talons being just as gentle on his frame proper.

“There, did it take?” Megatron asked, and Starscream sent an exploratory ping. “That’s a yes, then.” Megatron smiled, pinging back a confirmation, and Starscream sent along the invitation he’d gotten.

“Be at my habsuite an hour early, I’ll need to make sure we’re properly coordinated before we show up.” he informed his suitor, and kicked his thrusters on. Now that _that_ was taken care of, he needed a shower. He had ground level grime all over his legs.

\--- 

Starscream purred, fluttering his wings slightly to make the draping white-gold chains on them chime against each other. Really, if Megatron had thought he would be turned down after a gift of this value he was a proper fool. His courtmate stood at his side, decorated with a few bangles of matching white-gold set with glittering rubies and sapphires to match Starscream’s paintjob. The purple-black diamonds which studded his own freshly gifted finery like dark stars were a perfect complement to Megatron’s frame, so it had only seemed fair to decorate his courtmate in similar fashion.

“Someone finally caught your optic, huh?” one of his namemates said as he sauntered up, a fluted glass of high grade in one hand and the other resting daintily in the crook of his own bondmate’s arm, the shuttle even larger than Megatron and almost as darkly painted. “I guess we’re two of a kind after all.” he grinned wryly. Starscream held out his own cube ad his namemate chimed the rim of his glass against it.

“Yours is a scientist.” he said, reaching out to hook a claw in Megatron’s hip seam and drag him in close, pulling his optics from whatever bit of decor he’d been entranced by. Really, it was like the mech had never seen a ballroom before. “ _Mine_ is a poet.”

“A poet?” Skyfire looked Megatron up and down with naked suspicion.

“He liked the poems I left with his gifts so much he chased me down the other night and tackled me to give me a present in return.” Megatron smiled down at him, setting his tank aflutter. “That’s the kind of spark I love about him.”

Starscream preened, wings lifting to show off the jewels which hung from them. “He gave me this!”

His namemate, and the shuttle at the mech’s side, cooed appreciatively over the craftsmechship of the piece, speculating on the cost as Megatron’s attention wandered again. “Who’s that?” Megatron asked when the conversation lulled, and Starscream followed his gaze to the Winglord.

“Our gloriously successful namemate.” the other Starscream drawled. He’d never been interested in the politics of New Vos, content to have his supersized conjunx and run the premier science facility in the city with him. And outlier of their name, in that regard. Starscream personally was biding his time until he either found his trine or found stray namemates of theirs to bond with. Ruling alone was boring, and also full of datawork.

“He’s the newest of us, arrived not even a quarter vorn ago.” he explained to Megatron. “Ingratiated himself to the old Winglord, then got the mech killed and claimed the crown. Not that anyone can prove it.” he sipped at his high grade again.

“Attention, guests!” Winglord Starscream’s voice carried easily, as all of theirs did. “If I may ask my guests of honour to come to the dais?”

“That’s us.” Starscream gestured at himself and his namemate.

“I’ll clear a path.” His namemate’s conjunx said, and Megatron bristled slightly.

“Oh, let him.” Starscream murmured. “Rumour is, that Starscream’s carrying again. He’s allowed some protectiveness.”

Megatron’s field still prickled at him, but he got a huff and nod of assent, and Megatron fell in behind him to keep the crowd from closing in too close to his wings. Really, they were all aerials here, but some mechs just had no sense of personal space. He joined the rest of his namemates on the first step of the dais, and the Winglord gave them a grin which had all four of them straightening up reflexively. He thought he heard the click of weapons systems priming, but couldn’t be sure. Why were there only four of them? Where was the lanky one with the deep voice? Had he really been so petty as to blow off a summons from the Winglord himself?

“I know there are rumours as to why I’ve held this gala.” the Winglord said, his voice slipping into a smoother register than Starscream or his equally short namemate were capable of. Show-off. “As we all know, good fuel is hard to come by. We lose countless mechs, heading out beyond the walls to acquire synthblends we hope will not exaggerate our frames or even, Primus forbid, change our altmodes.”

At the edge of his optical field, Starscream caught the flash of cameras. Unsurprising, that the Winglord had invited the press. “Well, my loyal subjects, tonight I introduce to you my solution to the energon problem.” he made a sweeping gesture, and the curtains behind the throne parted to reveal four mechs with vacant pink optics and minimal plating. One thing they all had in common, though, was the rosy gold glint of a cockpit and a pair of gorgeous wings hung submissively at their backs. The Winglord beckoned them forwards, and Starscream swore he felt the highgrade he’d drunk curdling in his tanks.

Each of them wore a heavy collar, with a chain run down between glowing tits so large his backstrut ached just looking at them to attach to a piercing on their bared node. Each of them had thighs glistening with lubricant, and it made his tank twist nauseatingly. Their faces, vacant with bliss, looked far too familiar despite all the strong lines and hard edges having been ground out of them. Three of them he couldn’t’ve said if he had seen before, but the one on the end of the line nearest the Winglord had an unmistakable set of non-thruster heels, now with a stripe of lurid punk up the inside instead of the red they’d once shared, and a cockpit set low on his stomach rather than between his massive breasts. These were his namemates, _their_ namemates. How confident was he in a perpetual rule that he would enact a servile punishment which could and would be turned on him should he be deposed?

He barely heard the Winglord’s speech, only a lifetime of practice keeping his wings at a stiff, respectful angle as the mech patted himself on the back for coming up with something that solved both the problem of what to do with criminals whose crimes would otherwise earn them a lifetime of imprisonment and lessened the load on their fuel-foragers. If he’d introduced it with a roster of converted criminals, Starscream would’ve even approved. But no, this was a warning. Step out of line and he wasn’t afraid to subject even his own namemates to such a fate. Starscream saluted when he was expected to, and kept his face and field carefully neutral as he returned to the crowd.

“Are you alright?” Megatron asked, setting a hand on his lower back and guiding him away from the denser clumps of conversing guests.

“I think I’d like to go home.” he said, his voice sounding very distant to his own audials.

“Allow me to escort you, then.” Megatron offered, and Starscream nodded, his processor whirling. It had been no secret, how his tall and lanky namemate had coveted the title of Winglord, having possessed a similar rank in his own universe. Just as it was hardly a secret that the only reason he’d never made a move for any substantial amount of political power was because he was waiting for his trine. If the new Winglord was eliminating potential opponents, then he was surely on the list to be given that horrid treatment, turned into an energon dispensary and set on display, his frame twisted nearly beyond recognition and processor blitzed to blissed out mush.

“Actually, I was thinking.” Starscream looped his arm through Megatron’s offered one. “I’d like to see your place.”

“That can be arranged.” Megatron purred, and Starscream felt something under his spark casing unclench just a little. He could return later to collect his things, once he knew what would match Megatron’s decor. It hurt, knowing he would never call this lovely city home again, but New Vos was no longer safe for him or his politically inclined namemates. Megatron was still largely an unknown, but an unknown he was willing to take a chance on when the alternative was a fate far worse than deactivation.


End file.
